A Choice of True Love (Preview)

Early September 1880 – Tennessee

“Ruth! Ruth, where are you?”

Twenty-year-old Ruth Blake leaned against a tree, deep in the shadows of the woods behind the family cabin nestled along the eastern shore of the Tennessee River. She faced west, waiting for the moment when the sun sank below the horizon, bathing the landscape in fiery colors. This evening, the sky blazed orange and red, the colors peeking through the horsetail clouds. The pine branches glowed purple and mauve. She loved watching the ever-changing colors of sunrise and sunset, trying to guess which they would be.

“Ruth!”

She ignored her just-turned-eighteen-year-old sister, Melanie. As one of seven siblings, Ruth figured that no one would notice her absence, at least for a little while. Let her sisters help set the table for supper for a change.

She sighed, gazing at the growth of silver maples, yellow birch, and hickory trees around her, the branches alive with birds, squirrels, and chipmunks. She smiled, watching the antics of two squirrels chasing another round and round through a hackberry shrub nearby, chattering and scolding. The musty scent of leaves filled the air as a slight breeze tugged them off the tips of their branches, cascading down around her feet.

Early fall was Ruth’s favorite time of year. The crops were almost in, the heat of summer past, the cooler bite of air welcome in the morning, for her at least. She eyed the hollow in which she had temporarily hidden from her family, relishing the moment of privacy, hard to come by in the house. She felt…discontent.

Every day, the same.

She often yearned for some time alone, and the privacy that came with it. Heaven knew she had little of that in their large cabin. She shared a bedroom with her sisters. Melanie and twelve-year-old Rebecca shared one bed, and she and nine-year-old Adelaide shared the other. There was barely enough room to turn around when they rose in the pre-dawn darkness to do their chores, which consisted of gathering the eggs for breakfast, starting the fire in the stove, setting the table, and helping Ma with the cooking.

Her twenty-one-year-old older brother Michael and seven-year-old twins, Peter and Matthew, also had one room, Michael lucky enough to have a bed to himself, while the twins shared the other. Michael would rise and start the fire in the fireplace when it was cold or head out to the barn with the twins to muck the stalls and feed the cow and the pair of horses while the twins took turns milking the cow.

Ma would enter the kitchen, apron already in place, while Pa emerged moments later, brushing his hands through his hair, or his palm along his whiskered chin before heading outside to chop wood.

Ruth’s daytime hours were filled with chores. Not that she minded doing her chores or helping out. Tuesday was wash day, and with nine people living in the cabin, that was an all-day affair. Every Thursday was baking day and she spent much of it in the kitchen with her Ma and older sister Melanie, baking bread, maybe the occasional pie. Sometimes, if she could wheedle her way out of the household chores, she’d go help Pa and her brothers out in the fields. She much preferred being outdoors, working with the horses, harvesting their meager crop of tobacco, and helping to hang it in the drying shed.

The evening chores, much the same.

Was this all there was to life? Was this her destiny? She groaned, the sound emerging from deep in her throat. She yearned for something exciting, something adventurous. Her pa had promised her a trip to Nashville this past summer but they didn’t go. A neighbor had gone instead after Ma had come down with the grippe. Pa didn’t want to leave her for the week it would take to drive the wagon up to Nashville, load up on supplies, and return.

Not far from the cabin, she heard the cacophony of sounds of her family. She recognized Michael’s voice as he scolded her little brothers, acting like he already owned the place. “Peter, you and Matthew get out of that tree and go milk the cow! Can’t you hear her lowing?”

A squeal from one of her sisters interrupted the answer. Ruth smiled. The twins were little hellions and took great pleasure in harassing their sisters, a tiring handful for their mother. Ruth often helped keep the two of them entertained. She’d take them fishing or exploring in the woods just to give her mother an hour or two of peace and quiet.

“Ruth! Where are you?”

She heard laughter from twelve-year-old Rebecca. “She’s probably up in some tree somewhere, Melanie. Leave her be.”

It was like this every day at the cabin, her six siblings and her parents crowding into the three-bedroom cabin, on the original hundred-acre homestead that her parents had built together after purchasing the rich land on the banks of the Tennessee River for just over a dollar an acre. It was crowded, chaotic, and noisy most of the time, which up until this past year, had never bothered Ruth. Lately though, she had grown dissatisfied and had taken to exploring ever deeper into the forests around her home to relieve her sense of boredom.

She knew she should feel guilty for not coming home when she was called, but just once, she wanted to shirk her duties. She knew her parents needed her to help take care of her younger siblings, especially her younger sister, Adelaide, who had been born blind. Ruth loved her family, her brothers and sisters, and doted on Adelaide, but once in a while, it was nice to escape from the responsibility, even if it was merely avoiding helping set the dinner table.

She knew these woods like the back of her hand—the small pawpaw trees, the fragrant honeysuckle, the mountain laurel in the winterberry. She loved this land, the wildness of it, but sometimes, just sometimes, she wondered what was beyond these woods, beyond the Smoky Mountains, beyond the winding banks of the Tennessee River that had been her home forever.

Finally, she started back home, her shoulders hunched forward and her spirits low. At her age, she should have a beau. She should be preparing for marriage and family, as was her younger sister, Melanie, who was inside with Aunt Helen, planning Melanie’s marriage to the only son of a local farmer. Ruth didn’t particularly envy her younger sister, knowing that she was stepping into a life that was just the same as life here on her parent’s farm. The same routines, the same expectations, the same isolation.

The Blake family was part of a very small community tucked into one of the narrow valleys along the river, only gathering with friends and neighbors for Sunday church services or special gatherings like weddings and funerals. The men out here were nothing to shake a stick at, and Ruth couldn’t imagine being courted by any of them, let alone marrying one of them. Unfortunately, she had a feeling that after Melanie got married, the pressure on her to follow suit would increase. If she kept dragging her feet, as her Ma often scolded, she and her Pa would either go to find her a beau and marry her off, or she was going to end up an old maid.

Did it really matter? She wanted more than to marry a dirt poor farmer in the hills of Tennessee, to bear and raise a handful or more of children. She wanted more than her Ma had, God bless her, but she didn’t know how it would be possible. She couldn’t get a real job anywhere. First, there weren’t any places for her to work out here. Second, she didn’t have a proper education. Sure, she could read and write. She’d mostly taught herself. Her parents sometimes told her she was too smart for her own good.

Her mother had often scolded her over the years. “You’re a smart child, Ruth, but more independent than is good for you.”

“Who would want to marry Ruth?” her younger brothers teased mercilessly. “Her tongue’s sharper than a mountain holly!”

She headed back to the cabin, wondering if anyone had even noticed she had not appeared. She paused by one of the wavy blown glass windows at the side of the house that looked into the kitchen area. She watched as her family gathered around the dining room table. Melanie and Aunt Helen sat close together on one end of a long bench, probably discussing wedding plans. Her mother lifted a pot of steaming stew from the cook stove, little Adelaide by her side, one hand grasping her mother’s skirt, the other holding a wooden serving spoon.

Her pa and Michael entered the cabin from the front door around the corner from where Ruth stood, both pausing by the open doorway to hang their hats on wooden pegs pounded into the wall. Behind them, the twins raced inside, barreling into Michael’s legs, knocking him to the side. He merely grinned at them and ruffled Matthew’s hair as he scrambled to his place at the table.

As she eyed the table, Ruth frowned. Rebecca had forgotten to set a place for her. As she had suspected, no one seemed to notice that she wasn’t inside. Her feelings should’ve been hurt, but they weren’t. She had grown used to it. So many children, so much activity and things to do, it was easy to lose track. Finally, Ruth rounded the corner and entered their home, sitting down at the table between Melanie and Rebecca. She turned to her younger sister. “Rebecca, fetch me a plate and some silverware.”

Rebecca looked up at her with chagrin. “Sorry, Ruth.” She immediately rose, moved to the small floor cupboard against the wall opposite the wood stove, and grabbed another tin plate, bowl, and silverware from the ledge. She placed the setting in front of Ruth, and then leaned close, her cheek resting against Ruth’s upper arm.

“You been in the woods again, daydreaming?” Rebecca whispered.

Ruth glanced down at her little sister, saw her impish grin, and winked. “Yes,” she whispered back.

“Who are you today?”

Ruth chuckled softly. “Daniel Boone.”

“Ohhh, did you kill lots of Indians?”

Ruth played along. “No, I didn’t see any Indians today, but I did see a bear.”

Rebecca was about to answer when their mother spoke. “Rebecca, did you hear me? Pass me your bowl.”

Soon, dinner was served, each of them obediently passing their bowl to the person next in line at the table until everyone was served. Her father said a brief prayer, and then they ate. Once more, Melanie and Aunt Helen began to discuss Melanie’s wedding dress. The twins jabbered while Rebecca and Adelaide giggled at something. She glanced at her Ma and Pa, smiling at each other from opposite ends of the table.

Ruth sat quietly, feeling rather numb to it all, not included in any of the conversations. Then her aunt spoke up, asking if anyone had heard about Agatha Brewer, a neighbor, having left the week before to marry a rancher someplace out West.

Ruth perked up and turned to her aunt. “Out West? How did Agatha meet someone from out West?”

Aunt Helen smiled. “She didn’t, dear. She got herself a fiancé in a bridal catalog.”

“What’s a bridal catalog?” she asked.

“It’s a catalog, the same as some of the magazines you’ll find in the cities. Personal ads are placed in newspapers or magazines, or in one of these catalogs. They’ve been popular since before the war. They help single men and women find a spouse.”

“Why?” Rebecca asked.

Aunt Helen smiled patiently at her niece. “Because men vastly outnumber women in the West.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very good idea,” Ruth commented. “You mean Agatha answered one of these ads and then promised to marry a man that she’s never met?”

Aunt Helen shrugged. “It’s done all the time, Ruth.”

“I think it’s a silly idea,” Melanie said. She sniffed with distaste. “Why not just wait to be courted by a man, like I was by Jeremy?” She shook her head. “Imagine, promising to marry a man that you haven’t even met! What if he turns out to be a scoundrel? What if he lies in the ad, and misrepresents himself or his situation?”

“It’s a chance some women take,” Helen replied. “Sometimes things work out, sometimes they don’t. Still, many of these bachelors live out in the middle of nowhere, with little prospects of meeting a woman they want to marry, let alone any woman at all.”

An idea began forming in Ruth’s mind. As innocently as she could, she asked a question. “And where did Agatha get such a notion? I’ve never seen any of those ads or magazines here.”

“Actually, a while back, someone left a newspaper in town, after he visited Franklin. It came from Kansas City, Missouri. The paper was called the Matrimonial News or some such.”

Ruth pondered this for a moment. “And what? She answered one of the personal ads by this man who’d placed one? From where?”

Helen eyed Ruth, an eyebrow lifted. “Why so curious, Ruth?”

Ruth didn’t reply.

Aunt Helen waved a hand, holding her spoon. “From what I recall, the man hails from California.”

Ruth frowned, wanting to know more. “How much does it cost to put an ad in such a paper?”

“Ruth, why are you asking so many questions?” Melanie asked. She eyed her sister with disapproval. “It’s absolutely scandalous!”

“I’m just curious!” Ruth replied.

“I’m not sure,” Aunt Helen replied. “I only glanced at it briefly. I think maybe twenty-five cents.”

Ma gasped. “Twenty-five cents! Why, that can buy over six pounds of soup beef or ten pounds of flour!”

Aunt Helen continued, ignoring her sister’s exclamation. “The names and addresses aren’t printed in the ads, but each ad is given a number. From what I understand by reading the instructions, any interested party is to send the replies to the offices of the newspaper in a sealed envelope that is marked with a number of a specific ad.”

Before Ruth could ask any more questions, Melanie nudged her aunt and returned to the topic of her own wedding plans. Ruth sat quietly, eating her stew, intrigued. Mail order brides. Heading out West. Maybe, just maybe, this was a way for her to finally experience some adventure and excitement. She loved her family dearly, she really did, but she wanted more out of life. Maybe this was a way to do it. First thing in the morning, after chores, she would walk the three miles into the tiny town of Holcomb, population fifty-six, and ask around about this newspaper. Maybe Agatha’s mother still had it.

If not, she would track it down. She wouldn’t stop until she found it.

Chapter 1

Horizon, Wyoming Territory – Early October 1880

Kit Franklin tugged on the reins, pulling the pair of sorrel horses to a stop in front of the town mercantile. The trace chains clinked softly and the padded leather hames creaked in the late afternoon stillness. It’d been a long day, and this trip into town to drop off some of Aunt Betsy’s canned preserves, jams, and a few pies had taken precious time away from the chores that still awaited him and his men back at the ranch.

Beside him, Jesse Burdock, his best friend from as far back as he could remember, was in the middle of telling yet another one of his insufferable stories. Kit listened with only half an ear, his mind filled with the work that needed to be done before winter set it.

Finally, Jesse barked a laugh and slapped his knee. As Kit wrapped the reins around the brake handle, Jesse playfully jostled Kit’s shoulder.

“Can you believe it? Can you believe that’s what he said?”

Not having paid attention and deep in his own thoughts, Kit glanced at his friend and merely shrugged.

Jesse frowned. “You didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?”

Kit replied honestly. “Nope.”

“I swear, Kit, you’ve got to loosen up a little. You’re so serious all the time.”

Kit glanced at his friend as he climbed down from the wagon. “There’s still a lot of work to be done on the ranch before I can call it a day. I’m in no mood for frivolity.”

Jesse and his family, like the Franklins, also owned a large ranch, their two property lines bumping up against one another on the west side, closest to town. Jesse was a happy-go-lucky type of man, most always smiling, cheerful, and talkative. Very talkative. Quite the opposite of Kit, who was more serious and contemplative.

Most of the time, Kit didn’t mind Jesse’s stories, but these past few days, he just wasn’t in the mood. Several of his ranch hands had gone off late in the summer to join a cattle drive into the Dakotas and hadn’t returned. They probably wouldn’t. With the handful of men he had left, Kit had worked hard with his aging father to bring in as much hay from the fields as he could, storing it in their massive barn, preparing for winter.

They had allowed their cattle to graze in the valley all spring and summer, left to their own devices when foraging, as the cattle knew enough to fatten up for the winter. In the meantime, he and his father and the ranch hands had worked hard to gather the hay crop into massive piles known as windrows, where moving air dried them out. Some of the haystacks were as tall as his house. Most of the hay that they’d already gathered into piles was protected by the outside layer of the mounds, literally shutting rain.

To a point, this process was also effective against snow, protecting the middle of the haystack from rot, but they still needed to bring in a lot of that hay in wagons to store in the barn. This winter, as the last couple of harsh winters before, he, his father, and his men would need to pile the hay into the three wagons they owned. They would then have to drive them out to the fields where the herds gathered and huddled for sometimes weeks on end in the middle of snowstorms or blizzards.

He still had a lot of hay to take into the barn. His father didn’t have the energy he had last season, and Kit had doubled his workload to take the strain off his father’s aging body. As such, he felt a little short-tempered, not only from having to stop his work to bring these things into town for his aunt, but Jesse talking his ear off the entire way.

Kit had been born on the ranch twenty-six years ago. Since he was five years old, he had helped his father, Gerald, with the ranch chores. From the moment he could sit in the saddle, he had ridden the range with his father, learning the ways of the cattle and the land. By the time he was ten years old, he had broken his first bone after being thrown from a horse. It wasn’t the last.

In his younger years, he had gone to school when he could, but he found it trying. He wasn’t much for sitting idle indoors. When he wasn’t working the cattle, breaking wild mustangs, shoeing, or caring for the horses, or making repairs to the barn or their home, Kit spent his time hunting. There were plenty of deer, antelope, and elk up there in the mountains that helped feed the family during the long winters, offering a break from beef and more beef. He’d even killed a couple of grizzlies over the years, their pelts making nice, warm blankets for winter, their meat enjoyed in huge slab steaks or in stews for months.

No one could make bear stew like his mother, but she was gone now, taken after an especially harsh winter and an illness two years before. It was different now on the ranch, just him and his father living in the big ranch house. After his mother died, his father had grown rather taciturn. Gone was the man who loved to sit in his rocking chair in front of the fireplace and tell stories of frontiersmen and trappers, of the early days when he and his young bride had arrived in these wild lands.

Kit smiled as he recalled his father telling him that when he was born, in 1854, he had been named after Kit Carson, mountain man and frontiersman. During the years of the War Between the States, Carson had become a Brevet Brigadier General in the Union Army, stationed in the Southwest. He’d died in Colorado Territory not long after the war ended. Kit knew he’d never experience the kinds of adventures that his namesake lived. His duty was to help his father run their massive cattle ranch, encompassing thousands of acres.

During the last round-up, Kit and his men had branded nearly one thousand Longhorn head of cattle, some of the steers weighing up to nine hundred pounds or more. They brought high prices for those supplying beef to miners in the West to regions back in the East. They also owned dozens of short-horned milking cattle.

The Franklin ranch, located on the flatter plains just to the east of the mountains, was perfect for cattle, with lush, knee-high grass waving in the breezes as far as the eye could see and plenty of open watering holes. Gannett Peak rose to incredible heights in the distance. The peak rose nearly fourteen thousand feet above the valley floor to the west of Kit’s family ranch, formerly the tribal land and hunting grounds of the Crow Indians. Kit pointed toward the mountains. “See that?”

Jesse turned to glance over his shoulder, eyed the mountains a moment, and then turned back to Kit. “What?”

“They already got some snow, way up there in the high country, and it’s not even mid-October.”

This time it was Jesse’s turn to shrug. “We always get an early snow on the peak this time of year.”

Jesse snorted as Kit climbed down from the wagon to unload the boxes of foodstuffs. His aunt ran the family’s mercantile in the small town of Horizon. The town was nestled just shy of the foothills of the lower end of the Wind River Range of the Rocky Mountains, a nearly one-hundred-mile stretch of towering, jagged peaks located in Wyoming Territory where the Great Plains met the ridge of the Continental Divide.

Kit nodded. “We do. Which is why I need to start getting the cattle down from the foothills, replace some shingles on the barn roof that blew off with that last storm we had, and get the rest of the hay from the fields and into the barn.” He patted the rump of one of his horses. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a long, cold winter.”

Jesse jumped down from his side of the wagon seat and headed for the back of the wagon. “Isn’t it always?”

Each of them grabbed a wooden crate filled with Mason jars and took the two steps up the wide, warped wooden planks of the porch, beneath the store’s overhang. On each side of the door stood two large plate glass windows. On shelves just inside the windows, he spied a couple of ladies’ prairie bonnets on display, next to a cowboy hat. In the other window, a hay hook, two kerosene lanterns, and a shiny tin plate, beside which he saw a contraption that opened up like a jackknife that not only displayed a blade, but also offered a short fork and spoon.

He shook his head. It seemed as if every week he saw a newfangled contraption or invention placed in the window boxes of the store. Aunt Betsy, his father’s sister, ran the store as well as lived at the Franklin ranch, helping to take care of her brother, Gerald, and his son and daughter, Kit and Pearl. After his mother had passed away, and with his father, getting on in years, Aunt Betsy had decided to come live with them, which was more than fine with Kit.

He, nor his father, could cook worth a darn, although Kit could make edible flapjacks and bacon for breakfast. His younger sister, eighteen-year-old Pearl, avoided housework like the plague. Personally, Kit thought that she purposely burnt meat or undercooked potatoes for supper just to get out of having to do it. Even cooking a stew seemed beyond her questionable talents, her efforts nothing more than roughly chopped bits of beef or chicken, half raw potatoes, and stringy, undercooked beans.

Pearl was Kit’s only sibling. His parents had wanted to have a huge family, but after Pearl, his mother had not borne any more children. He and Pearl didn’t get along too well, not that he didn’t want to feel closer to his younger sister, but he’d given up years ago trying to form a bond with her, one that she had persistently shrugged off.

Aunt Betsy told him once that Pearl would grow out of her disregard of her only brother, but he wasn’t so sure. Pearl could be sweet as honey to everyone else. Not to him, her older brother. He’d seen the more pleasant side of his sister during social occasions, so knew she could do it. She could be charming, was extremely intelligent, and could be rather conniving and deceptive on occasion. Apparently, according to his aunt, Pearl was jealous of him and the fact that the ranch and the mercantile would belong to him upon their father’s passing, which of course, Kit hoped would not happen for many years to come.

At any rate, while expectations were for Kit to take over one of the largest ranches in Wyoming, Pearl was expected to marry off, have children, raise a family, and become a rancher’s wife—but not on the Franklin spread. Needless to say, such expectations caused a great deal of resentment in Pearl against her brother, not that he had anything to do with any of it.

Once inside, Aunt Betsy greeted the two of them with a smile. She beamed when she saw the wooden crates they carried, filled with products she hoped to sell.

“And how are my fine two young men this afternoon?”

“Afternoon, Miss Clay,” Jesse nodded.

“I’m just dandy, thank you, Jesse.” She shook her head, her gaze passing between the two of them. “I can’t believe you’ve both grown so tall.” She cast a glance at her nephew, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t you think it’s about time the both of you settled down and started families?”

Kit bit off a sigh. His aunt was always going on about him finding a nice girl to marry and starting a family. “Plenty of time for that, Aunt Betsy. Besides, I’m too busy. You know as well as I do that there’s always something to be done on the ranch. Who’s got time for courting?”

She knew very well that with his father getting old and slowing down, it was only a matter of time before he had to completely take over the ranch business, as well as overseeing the mercantile.

Aunt Betsy waved a hand, pooh-poohing the comment. She pointed toward the shelves behind the counter. “You boys can put those crates over there.”

After unloading the wagon and chatting with Aunt Betsy for a few minutes, Kit told her they had to get going, that there were a few things that he still needed to do before sundown. She just gave him a knowing look, then nodded.

“I’ll be along directly. When you get back to the ranch, tell Pearl to start warming up the leftover chicken and dumplings I made last night.”

Kit nodded, then stepped outside, his boots thudding on the wood plank porch and then down the steps. He climbed onto the wagon, waiting for Jesse to do the same, then released the break, slapped the reins, and headed out of town. He needed to drop Jessie off at his family ranch before heading to his own, which would probably have him arriving home just before dusk. He sighed.

He glanced at Jesse, oddly quiet now, but he appreciated the silence. Unfortunately, the peace only lasted a few minutes.

“You know, I think your Aunt Betsy is right.”

Kit closed his eyes, shook his head, and then glanced at his friend. “How so?”

“Bridal catalogs.”

Kit frowned. “What?”

“Well, it’s like you said. We’re both busy on our ranches. Who’s got time for serious courting? Besides, there’s not that many eligible women around Horizon. Why, we’d have to go down to Cheyenne to find a decent crop of them. Who’s got time for that?”

Kit shrugged. “Courting is the last thing on my mind right now.”

“But it could be easier if we got our hands on a newspaper or even one of those magazines or catalogs that advertise for mail order brides.”

Kit looked at his friend, dismayed. Where in heaven’s name had Jesse ever seen such? No doubt Jesse often came up with hackneyed ideas, but this…No. “I don’t see myself thumbing through an ad in a catalog to pick myself out a wife, Jesse.”

Jesse was quiet for several moments, but then sat up straight, snapping his fingers as he shifted on the wagon seat to look at his friend. “We could pick one out for each other.”

“What are you talking about, Jesse?”

“I pick out a bride for you, and you pick out one for me. You know me well enough, and I certainly know you well enough to know what kind of woman you would take a fancy to.” He shrugged. “What’s the harm in that? I could place the ads and we’ll see what happens.”

Kit didn’t say anything, thinking that Jesse’s new idea didn’t even deserve a response. Even so, by the time he got back to his ranch and took care of the horses, it was near dark. He paused at the side of the house, where a small table with a washbasin and pitcher of water stood. He quickly washed up, the water cold, and he glanced toward the western horizon, where the sun slowly dipped beyond the rim of the jagged mountains to the West.

While he thought it was a ridiculous idea, Kit couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have a wife. Then again, did he have the time, or could he even make the effort to properly care for a woman and her needs? Besides, he didn’t want to marry a woman who would just stay around the house, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, and gathering eggs. That would be boring. He couldn’t see forming an attachment to such a woman. He wanted a woman with some spunk. Still, the idea of looking for a wife from an ad didn’t sound right to him.

He wasn’t the easiest man to be around. He knew that. He was more like his father than he cared to admit. Mostly, he was quiet, enjoyed his time alone out riding the range or hunting. In the evening, he often sat in the chair in his room, reading by lantern light. Alone.

Was he destined to spend every night alone in his bed? Winter nights out here on the plains were long and cold. The thought of curling up next to a beautiful woman did sound appealing. Finally, he snorted, gave his horse’s rump a friendly pat, and then headed inside the ranch house.

*

The next day, after chores, and just about the time he was ready to head inside for the evening, he heard the clop of horse’s hooves heading into the yard. He turned and saw Jesse, who halted his horse in front of one of the hitching rails. His friend climbed down, a grin on his face as he carelessly wound one of the horse’s reins around the post and then stepped onto the porch.

Kit knew that supper wouldn’t be ready for a little bit and gestured toward a table at the far side of the porch. He lifted an eyebrow, gesturing. “Cards?”

Jesse shrugged. “Sure. I got something to show you.”

Kit and Jesse often played a hand or two of poker on long, hot, summer evenings, but tonight was different. Not only was it much cooler, but even after Kit doled out the cards, Jesse didn’t reach for them. Instead, he pulled something from the waistband of his pants behind his back. Kit saw a newspaper and a thin, well-thumbed and wrinkled magazine.

Kit frowned. “What’s that?”

Jesse’s grin broadened. “Tonight, my friend, we’re going to find us a couple of brides.”

Kit stiffened. “No, Jesse, we’re not. I can’t believe you’re serious about this.”

Jesse shook the folded newspaper at Kit. “Go ahead, read a few. Back page, under personals.”

Knowing that his friend wouldn’t leave them alone until he did, Kit took the newspaper and opened it up to the back page. He found the personals, picked one at random, and read out loud.

“I want to know some pretty girl come around twenty years of age. I am thirty years old, five feet, ten inches tall, and blonde. I can laugh for fifteen minutes straight and I want to find a pretty girl to laugh along with me.”

Kit glanced up from the newspaper to Jesse. “Are they serious?”

“Okay, some of them are strange, but read another one.”

Kit found another one. “A handsome eighteen-year-old living in South Dakota. I have money at my disposal. I would be pleased to correspond with an even-tempered young woman. Primary objective: spending quality time and enjoying its results.”

Again, Kit merely looked up from the newspaper and glanced at Jesse. Jesse grinned as he opened the small magazine. “I found a couple in here from some ladies that aren’t too bad.”

Kit closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, knowing that Jesse wasn’t going to be happy until he’d read a few. He gestured with his hand for Jesse to go ahead.

“Okay, here’s one. Thirty-year-old woman from Boston, recently widowed, no children. Looking for a man to provide shelter and support.”

Kit frowned. “That’s it?” He glanced down at the paper again, browsing, knowing that Jesse wanted him to take part in this folly. “Oh, here’s one written by a woman named Ruth. She says that she’s from Tennessee. She writes that she’s tall, has a sense of humor, and a love for adventure.” He glanced up at Jesse, saw him watching with interest. “That interest you?” he asked his friend.

Jesse nodded. “And I think I found an ad here from a woman that I think would make you a perfect match.”

Kit didn’t ask him to read the ad, knowing that he wasn’t going to go through with this foolishness. He had a feeling that Jesse wouldn’t either, that this was just a lark to him.

He couldn’t have been more mistaken.

---

“A Choice of True Love” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Ruth loves her family dearly, but she also dreams of adventure and yearns for more than her daily, mundane routine. After her father forbids her from getting a proper education, she becomes desperate to control her own life. Despite the big risk involved, she answers an ad looking for a bride in Wyoming, not realizing just how much her life is about to change. When she eventually meets her fiancé, in an unexpected twist of fate Ruth finds herself developing feelings for his best friend instead. Trapped in a terrible dilemma, she’s forced to question her very values…Will she trust the true calling of her heart or will she resign herself to marrying a man she doesn’t love?

Kit Franklin has always been hurt by love in the past, but he finally feels ready to open his heart again and settle down. Determined to find someone to love, he goes along with his best friend’s idea to find a wife a mail-order bride ad. With two fiancés on their way, Kit is very excited to start a new chapter and anxious to meet his intended. When the two women arrive though, Kit is astonished to realize that he is slowly falling for Ruth, the bride he chose for his friend. Mesmerized by her beauty and bravery, he’s overwhelmed by the chemistry blossoming between them… When confusion and guilt assail Kit, will he risk following his heart even if it means he might lose his best friend?

Kit and Ruth struggle against their blooming feelings for one another, facing obstacles that challenge their honor and even their lives. Meanwhile, their love for one another threatens to tear their families and life-long friendships apart. Will Kit and Ruth be able to ignore what’s between them forever? Will they accept the life set before them or will they find the courage to embrace what lies deeper in their hearts?

“A Choice of True Love” is a historical western romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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